The first rays of dawn crept through the tall glass windows of the penthouse, brushing the edges of the room with a faint golden warmth. The city below was still waking muted horns, the soft hum of traffic, the whisper of wind against glass.
But inside, the world was still.
Valeria stirred in her sleep, brow furrowing as the remnants of her nightmare clawed faintly at her chest. Then something warm firm and steady brushed against her cheek. The faint scent of sandalwood and cedar wrapped around her like comfort itself.
Her lashes fluttered open.
The first thing she saw was the smooth white of a shirt. Her hand was resting against it. Her fingers… curled slightly. And her face she froze was pressed against it.
Her gaze trailed upward, and her entire body went rigid.
Adrian De Vere Leone was there. Seated against the headboard, one arm loosely around her waist, his other hand resting casually on the duvet. His eyes were half-lidded, faintly amused, and far too awake.
"Good morning," he murmured, voice low and rich the kind that felt like a seductive Siren.
Valeria blinked once. Then twice. "What—what are you doing here?!"
He tilted his head slightly. "I live here."
Her cheeks burned. "No, I mean in my bed!"
A flicker of teasing lit his usually unreadable expression. "Technically, it's mine too. You passed out, screaming, remember? I wasn't going to leave you alone after that."
Her lips parted then closed. Her throat tightened at the memory of the nightmare, her pulse quickening. She remembered flashes of shadows, her heart pounding, and then… his voice, steady and warm, whispering, I'm here.
Adrian's gaze softened, noticing her hesitation. "You were shaking," he said quietly. "You said you couldn't breathe. So, I stayed."
She swallowed. "…I see."
Silence lingered. Then, her eyes caught something a faint damp spot near his collar. Her breath hitched.
Her cheeks flamed.
Adrian noticed the shift in her expression, followed her gaze… and one of his brows arched, the faintest ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips.
"Did you just realize you drooled on my shirt?" he asked, tone maddeningly calm.
Her head snapped up. "I—I did not!"
He leaned slightly closer, voice dropping into that teasing drawl only he could manage. "You did. Don't worry. You're not the first to fall asleep on me — but definitely the cutest one who drooled."
"Adrian!" she hissed, trying to push away from him, but his arm barely budged.
"You'll fall if you move too fast," he said, still half-smiling. "Relax. You've had enough shocks for one night."
She scowled at him, trying to look composed but only managing to look even more flustered. "You're impossible."
"True." He brushed a strand of hair from her face with a quiet gentleness that startled her. "But you slept peacefully after that."
Her lips pressed together. Then, softly — almost to herself — she asked, "Why… are you so good to me?"
Adrian blinked. The teasing faded instantly.
Her voice was quiet, her eyes wide — innocent and confused, like a child asking a question she had no right to.
And something in his chest twisted sharply.
That look those clear, unguarded eyes carried years of loneliness she didn't even realize she was showing.
Valeria's fingers twisted the blanket. "You don't have to," she murmured. "I'm used to doing things alone."
Her voice trembled slightly, her eyes lowering to the sheets. "Since I was little… I worked wherever I could. Cleaning tables, carrying boxes, washing dishes until my hands cracked. If I dropped something, they hit me. If I cried, they told me to cry quietly or get out."
Her throat tightened, words tumbling out softly but heavy. "Sometimes I'd fall asleep in storerooms because I didn't have a place to go. People said orphans are burdens, so I learned not to speak much. Just to survive."
Her lashes shimmered faintly, eyes glossy. "So, when someone is kind to me… I don't know how to act. I keep wondering what I did to deserve it."
Adrian's jaw tightened slightly. He didn't speak, but his hand curled faintly against the duvet like holding back something he didn't trust himself to say aloud.
He leaned closer, his voice low and steady. "That's a cruel thing for the world to do to someone like you."
She tried to smile. "It's fine. I got used to it."
"You shouldn't have had to," he said quietly.
Her lashes lifted, and for a second, she saw it that raw, rare emotion beneath his calm. The one that wasn't pity, but hurt. As if her pain had somehow become his own.
Then, to ease the weight between them, his lips curved faintly. "Should I sleep beside you again tonight then?" he murmured teasingly, voice low. "To make sure you don't drool on the furniture instead?"
Her eyes widened. "You—! That's not—!"
He laughed softly, that rare warmth returning to his tone. "I'm teasing," he said. "Mostly."
She turned away, clutching the pillow. "You're awful."
"Only with you."
He stood up, rolling his sleeves to the elbow, the morning light tracing his sharp jawline. The shirt she'd drooled on clung faintly to his frame and Valeria quickly looked away again, flustered.
He caught it. Of course, he did. "See something you like?" he drawled.
"Leave," she muttered, hiding under the pillow.
Adrian chuckled, heading toward the door. "Breakfast in twenty minutes. I'll tell Leonard to make something light."
Then he paused, hand resting on the handle.
"Valeria."
She peeked out. "What?"
His voice dropped, softer but there was weight in it. "You don't owe anyone for kindness," he said quietly. "Not even me."
Then, lifting his phone, he spoke into it — his tone returning to steel. "Leonard. Clear the penthouse for the morning. I'll handle everything else. And stay out for a few hours."
"Yes, sir," came the reply.
Adrian glanced back one last time at the girl curled beneath his blanket small, fierce, and unaware of how much she'd already changed him.